


Spinsters

by LyaStark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lyanna Is Alive, Family Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 13:21:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3251219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyaStark/pseuds/LyaStark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Lyanna returned to Winterfell alive and gets to watch her nieces and nephews grow up in a long summer, she and Arya bond over not fitting easily into the roles they've been assigned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spinsters

It was their nightly ritual. Every evening, Lyanna came to Arya’s chamber, sent the maid on her way, and brushed her niece’s hair out before the child went to bed.

Catelyn often did the same with her eldest daughter, but never with Arya. The younger girl had noted the difference.

“It’s because I’m ugly,” Arya had told Lyanna one evening when she came to say good night. “Sansa and Jeyne said so. My hair’s not pretty like hers and mother’s.”

“You are _not_ ugly,” Lyanna had insisted, though her niece glanced at her with unconvinced grey eyes before looking down at her hands and picking at her fingernails.

“That’s not what they say. I _am_ ug-”

Lyanna took her by the chin and jerked Arya’s head to face hers. “You stop saying you’re ugly. You hear me? Stop that right now.”

“But-”

“You think I’m ugly too, then?”

That seemed to take Arya aback. “No, you’re beautiful! _Everyone_ says so. No one ever-”

“Then so are you.” Lyanna let go of her chin. “Look in the mirror. Go on.” She helped Arya climb out of bed and led her by the hand to the looking glass. “See, you have my look. If you’re ugly so am I, and I won’t be having any of that talk.”

She watched Arya scrunch up her face as she looked back and forth between them in the glass, taking in their long faces, straight brown hair, and matching eyes.

“Your lady mother allows me the privilege of brushing your hair myself as I have no children of mine own,” Lyanna had explained. “I know I’ve been lax on that, so let’s start now.”

From then on, Lyanna came to brush her hair out every night. Though Arya had been clever enough not to believe the lie, she seemed grateful for the attention. The time alone allowed them time to chat over every notion that entered their minds. Like spinsters.

“Are you a spinster?” Arya asked.

The brush Lyanna was pulling through her niece’s hair stilled.

“Spinster!” she cried.

The word brought to mind cobwebs and shriveled skin and an aching loneliness. Lyanna had never thought of the term in relation to herself.

“Septa Mordane said you were,” Arya hurried on. “She said, I had better improve my stitches or I’d end a ruined spinster like you. I told her she was a liar. You aren’t ruined. But I didn’t know what a spinster was. Are you though? A spinster I mean?”

Lyanna resumed her brushing. “Septa Mordane said that, did she?”

Lyanna loathed that woman. She had ever since she discovered that the septa was encouraging the other girls to look poorly on Arya and using her as an insult whenever the others stepped out of line.

“You are a good girl, but I swear you are acting as wicked as Arya!” she would tell Sansa she was caught stealing extra lemon cakes. Or, “Pay attention and don’t be willful or you’ll be as far behind as your sister!” when the other girl was caught looking out a window at the boys playing in the yard.

Lyanna had ordered Mordane to stop that at once. So it seemed the septa had turned her vitriol onto Lyanna instead. But she would be damned before she let that old woman believe she had wounded her pride. So she wouldn’t bother correct her. There was some truth to the insult, after all.

“I suppose she’s right,” Lyanna said lightly as she began to divide the brown strands into equal parts. “I’m almost 30 and unmarried.” With fewer and fewer prospects as each year passed, as Old Nan gently warned her all too often. “You could say I am a spinster.”

In the mirror, she saw Arya screw up her face. Lyanna smiled warily, knowing this would lead to a string of questions, some of which she might not be ready to answer. But none came.

Instead, Arya’s face took on that stubborn look she often got. “Then I want to be a spinster too,” she said.

“Ah, sweetling,” Lyanna said as she folded the brown locks into a loose braid. But she knew enough not to argue with that set jaw, so like her own. She could only pray that the gods placed Arya on a gentler path than Lyanna herself had traveled.

“If you want to be a haggard, ruined spinster like your old aunt-”

“You aren’t haggard!” Arya cried.

“-just know that your poor septa is a spinster too.”

“No!”

“Aye, she is. If you wish, that could be you teaching highborn girls to mind their stitches and to sit up straight and to never, ever get dirty.”

“I won’t!”

“Up with you, little spinster.” Lyanna kissed the crown of her head. “Time for bed and dreams of needlework.”


End file.
